Vol. 2, Post #93 The Safe Word

Not what you think, but just as important. Sex tips for girls* (*or maybe just folks who are holding on to mid-life by a thread). A dating odyssey for Young Olds (people with readers).

At least a dozen of my friends think I should fuck my pool guy.

First, a little background, starting with the fact that I no longer have a pool guy. About six years ago, I sold “the big house” where I raised my son, just a few miles up the winding mountain road from where I live now. My former property — beautiful but too spacious for just me or even just me and a partner (I had one at the time when I downsized) — was a lot to maintain, and I was tired of paying big bills for any number of house-related costs, including my pool. So, actually, as I write this, I have no pool guy.

But I’ll use “pool guy” as a moniker for a man who does work around my house. Who would like to fuck me. Badly. This has been a topic of many convos with my posse, and some of these chats point to an interesting theme around these here parts — as well as right here on Shove. I’ll explain.

My “pool guy” is tall, handsome, and built. I mean, it’s kind of right out of your basic soft porn fantastic. He’s not that much younger than me, so I don’t think of him as my “pool boy” — he probably falls in the category of about ten years my junior (which tends to be my sweet spot when I date) — but he DOES work for me and he DOES perform tasks that I’d otherwise ask an able-bodied man to do for me (sorry — so fucking heteronormative). Allow me to sidebar for a minute and think back to when my ex-wife was courting me and she climbed on the roof at my former big house and cleaned out my gutters. It was fucking hot. Yeah. I’ll say she cleaned ‘em out alright…

Ok, back to my pool guy.

For about a year now, I’ve noticed that if I’m home when he’s working at my house, he’s watching me. Not stalking-watching, but definitely stopping his work to chat if opportunity presents itself, or, if he’s here and I’m about to leave for a biz appointment, he makes sure to tell me that I look nice, or pretty, or that I smell good. It’s pretty obvious what’s going on, but since it’s never moved past this, I just brush it off. I like my pool guy and I need him to keep the pool clean and in working operation. (Again — I have no pool, but you’re following the analogy, right? I live in a smallish community, I’m being extra discreet, and we all know the adage “don’t shit where you eat.”).

So here’s what happened.

In early fall, I texted Pool Guy and said, “Hey, my son is off on tour and I need some help with putting away my deck furniture. It needs to go down into my basement and I don’t think I can lift it all and carry it down the back steps. Any chance you are avail?”

He was and he said he’d be over that weekend.

Once at my place, Pool Guy made quick work of putting away the deck dining table, chairs, umbrella and the rest of it for me. I was in my basement, assisting him (telling him where to stash it all, and PS, wearing pajamas so it’s not like I was Dressed For Sexcess) when he turned to me and asked if he could ask me a question. I kind of assumed I knew what was coming so I said, Sure. I figured this would have to come out at some point, and that some point was seemingly now.

“I saw that you had a gay flag hanging outside the house this summer. Is that why you don’t have a boyfriend?” he asked.

“Oh, that’s a good question. It’s actually not a ‘gay flag;’ it’s an LGBTQIA+ pride flag, if you want to be inclusive, and ha, there are SO MANY reasons that I don’t have a boyfriend! I hung it up because I’m an ally but I’m also queer — I like men and women, mostly men. Do you know what ‘ally’ means? Does any of this make sense?” I said.

“It does. I do know. So you’re not gay?”

“Nope. Not gay.”

“So why don’t you have a boyfriend? I mean, I know you had one before.”

“I’m not sure why I don’t have a boyfriend right now,” I admitted. “I guess I don’t really think of anyone in that way, in this moment.”

Pool Guy was quiet for a minute and then said, “Can I ask you something else?”

“Yup,” I said.

“Do you ever want to fool around with me? Because I’d like that, a lot. I think you are so pretty and sexy and funny and I think about you all of the time.”

So there it was. After our conversation began with a mini-lesson on the Pride Flag, I wasn’t sure it was going here. But then it went there. I smiled and took a breath.

“Well, first off, everyone likes to feel attractive, I think. So thanks for the compliment. But no, I don’t think we should fool around. Don’t you think that will make things very complicated? And also, don’t you have a girlfriend?”

That last part wasn’t a real question. I had seen Pool Guy with a woman on occasion and assumed KNEW she was his lady.

Pool Guy nodded, adding, “She wouldn’t have to know.”

I burst out laughing. He sure gave me an easy out with that! “Yes, but I’D KNOW. And I don’t fool around with anyone else’s man. Make sense?”

He was smiling at me now, nodding. We both got it. He took his shot. But wait…he wasn’t done.

“But if I didn’t have a girlfriend, would you want to? I mean, I know we’d have a good time together and I’d treat you really, really well.”

To this, I was quiet. We both just stood there.

He continued, “I hope you don’t feel like I’m disrespecting you. I respect you. You make me feel excited. I think you’re a gorgeous, powerful woman.”

I decided it was time to wrap up the conversation, although I appreciated his candor and told him so. “I don’t feel disrespected and I appreciate when people are honest about feelings. That takes guts and I like that. But you and I should stay friends. I like that you take care of things for me here and I don’t want to disrupt that. Sound OK?”

He agreed, saying again that he hoped I wasn’t upset and me saying that I was not. We finished the deck storage clean up, and I said I would get my wallet and meet him at my kitchen door to pay him. As I handed him some cash, he said to me, “If you change your mind, will you tell me?”

At this, I laughed. “If I change my mind, you will be the first to know!”

OK, so naturally, this conversation made the rounds with an assortment of pals. Depending on the gender/sexual orientation of the friend group, that chat went like this:

• The women/the gays all wanted to see a photo of Pool Guy. Of course I didn’t have one. A quick search on social media turned up a photo that I passed around. Everyone was panting about how hot he is. He is hot.

• The straight men all said, “This is every guy’s fantasy. Are you locking your doors more at this point? I mean, you don’t think this is going to be any kind of problem, do you?”

I do not think it’s a problem. In fact, I think it actually points to a fascinating but, OK, yes, a melancholy or downright sad POV that some of us single Young Olds are chewing on right now. And that’s this:

Pool Guy is safe. Let me explain.

No matter which way you Rubik’s Cube this, a sexcapade with Pool Guy won’t end up with me getting hurt (and yes, in this made-up scenario, everyone is using condoms and Pool Guy doesn’t have a girlfriend who will boil my bunny, so it’s all above board and no one is endangering their health).

Think about it:

• He’s announced his ardor for me and is prepared to show me a good time. I believe him. He looks like he could fuck me into the next zip code.

• We both understand that this would be a relationship based in sex/physicality so no one would be entering into it with unrealistic expectations. I pay him for what he does around my house. It’s already transactional and that could be kind of hot for both of us — I’m not sure it WOULD be, but it COULD be.

• He lives close by so he could be here, and then he could be gone. Poof!

• No one needs to meet anyone’s kids, parents, go to the PTA bake sale together, none of that stuff.

• AND…All of the things I just outlined above ^^^? It makes him “safe” — in theory, no one is getting attached to the other person for anything other than some naked sweaty fun.

Let’s hold up for a moment so I can reiterate this: I am not interested in fucking my pool guy. However, given some of the nonsense that faces single folks my age? Sounds like a pretty sweet, if not fantastical, scenario to joke about. The following occasion, when Pool Guy was doing some work at my house, he repeated how he wanted me to know that when we last spoke, it was not his intent to disrespect me, so we went down that rabbit hole for a hot second, again. A text to a friend afterwards.

The joke stops being funny when we start discussing why it’s often hard to have a satisfying committed relationships within our peer group, since there are A TON of “scared” people out there who won’t show their cards, or reveal their heart’s desire, or say what you KNOW they are feeling which then prevents you from getting closer, which leaves you both in the dark.

In that way, Pool Guy’s honesty is refreshing, isn’t it?

Over the last few months since the conversation with Pool Guy took place, I’ve heard from a pretty large segment of my friend group, including singles and married folks, all of these people longing for something else. Something “more” than what they have. What does that look like? Well, one singleton is fucking their former spouse on occasion, again, because it's “safe.” One married pal sees a variety of lovers who would never be partners IRL but as illicit fuck buddies? Sexy AND safe (assuming the spouses don’t find out). One singleton has announced, “The minute I hear that a date ‘has been hurt’ by something from childhood which hasn’t been addressed in therapy, I’m out!” and who could blame them? But not everyone is well-therapized and unless a person is willing to take that step, yeah, I get it. Protecting yourself from someone who could end up breaking your heart because of their trauma? No thanks. It feels “safer” to just stay away. And yet another married friend KNOWS they are furious with their spouse and KNOWS they should be in therapy but doesn’t want the financial or emotional expense associated with therapy, so they live silently and furiously side by side, no sex, not a ton of talking, just doing the kids and the chores. They are “safe” on their own separate but neighboring islands of discontent, but they say they prefer the “safety” of marriage than the uncertainty of divorce.

See what I mean? For many Young Olds, “safe” has replaced “love.”

That “safe” quotient is what keeps more people than I ever imagined stuck in place. A tire in a muddy field. That pesky piece of splinter that no amount of digging out with tweezers can dislodge.

When did “safe” replace “happy”? When did it get too scary to take a chance?

I’ll stop speaking (writing) in abstracts for a minute. Over the last few years, I’ve been in a relationship with and loved a man who was petrified about what really showing up for me would look like, in terms of not just his Catholic family who turned their nose up at his divorce (and I’m assuming, my two divorces) but also, he thought he didn’t “deserve” me and that I’d leave him when I realized that he didn’t measure up (of course, he left me — and it took a long time to get over it). I’ve been wildly interested in a man who wanted to date me, who DID date me, taking the smallest baby steps forward after a personal tragedy, who, in the end, loved to say what a great connection we had but was still unable to get out of his own way. I’ve expressed interest in a man who I can tell liked me, who still likes me, but seems afraid to spend time with me based on some old trauma that he says he owns, but can’t seem to overcome.

So much fear.

Easier to retreat into safety, right?

I don’t think so. I’m not sure what compels me to move ahead without (too much) fear around this, but for me, I think the scary feeling is NOT taking that chance.

To that single friend who is fucking their ex-spouse: Expect more for yourself and don’t go back to that place, even though the jokes are still funny and the quirks are well-known.

To that married friend who is fucking around on the down-low, mostly with lovers who would never be good partners: Make a bid to reconnect with your own spouse and see what happens when you both ‘fess up to how you’ve pushed each other away.

To that single friend who is jaded even before the cocktail has been poured on a first date: Listen more deeply. Just because someone had a shitty childhood doesn’t mean they aren’t working towards a more enlightened adulthood.

To that married friend who seethes at their spouse but would never consider divorce: What would you tell your own child if they were this unhappy and angry? Stay or go?

It very well might be the winter of our collective discontent but I’ll be damned if I’m playing this chapter (or any subsequent ones) “safe.”

I mean, please…look at that hair^^^!

At top, an image from the Esquire magazine excerpt of a novel titled, what else? “The Pool Guy.” I may have to find a copy of this book, for my Safe At Home Winter Reading.

NEXT WEEK — If you’re on my social media, you may have seen the tale of the anonymous two bouquets of flowers? The sender has revealed himself and, oh just you wait…